Every Day, Every Day Of The Year
by tielan
Summary: Tony's brilliant ideas involving photoshoots, threesomes, Betty Ross, shirtlessness, and the moral decay of society through merchandising. [Pepper/Tony, Bruce/Tony, Clint/Natasha, Jane/Thor, Maria/Steve, and a great deal of innuendo...]


**NOTES**: The summary for this was nearly "Tony comes on to nearly everyone in Avengers Tower. It's just what he does" only Tony actually doesn't come on to everyone _enough_ to make it really accurate. However, there's a lot of flirting...a lot of a lot of flirting. And innuendo. As an indication, I've put a TAGS list below...

**TAGS**: ensemble, humour, silliness, pranks, teasing, hijinks ensue, innuendo, Tony's brilliant idea, Avengers pinup calendar, my brain does this, hilarity ensues, herding cats...uh...Avengers, Pepper isn't being paid enough, Maria isn't being paid enough, cake or death, Iron Man panties, Clint as cupid, Life Model Decoys, America Needs No Shirt

**every day, every day of the year**

It was Steve who came to see Pepper first.

There were days when Pepper wondered if she had 'superhero advice columnist' floating in neon lights above her head. Between Bruce and his questions, Steve and his appeals, and Thor and his courtesies, there were times when Pepper felt like she was holding down an economy's worth of jobs, the only one with a title and a paycheque being the CEO of Stark Industries.

Things had clearly deteriorated in the last two days. Steve wore a check shirt and a desperate expression, and only acknowledged Pepper's secretary with a nod instead of the usual thanks he gave. It was probably just as well – each time she showed him in, Sue looked like she wasn't sure whether to hyperventilate or kowtow.

"Can't you talk him out of it?"

No niceties. Another sign of desperate times.

"Steve, I've been trying to talk Tony out of things for nearly fifteen years. My success rate is only slightly better than trying to stop the tide coming in."

Pepper felt bad even for saying that. Steve looked like a kicked puppy – impressive considering he topped six feet.

"Look," she said, "think of it as a promotional photoshoot. You did those back in the war, didn't you?"

"I usually got to keep my clothes on, though."

Pepper paused. Rewound the conversation. Realigned the bits and pieces of her fragmented conversations with Tony over the last few days. And blinked.

"Wait. This is a _pinup_ calendar?"

* * *

Tony never expected Bruce's participation straight off the bat.

"I'm pretty sure I said I wasn't joining you in any more of your crazy schemes." Bruce didn't look up from his notes. "Especially the ones that didn't involve clothes."

"I thought you _liked_ the ones that didn't involve clothes." Tony smirked at Bruce and rolled his eyes when the other man didn't respond. "The photographer's one of the best in the business – he's won awards."

"No."

"It'll be tasteful."

"Because you're known for being tasteful." Bruce settles soldering goggles over his eyes and begins delicately soldering connections on a small piece of equipment. Why, exactly, he's doing that when Tony's fabricators can make anything Bruce wants to any specification he pleases, Tony doesn't know and something about the way Bruce is holding himself suggests he probably shouldn't ask.

He huffs as he drifts through the lab, waiting for Bruce to finish the soldering work because, although Tony's fabricators can make anything Bruce wants to any specification he pleases, it's clear that Bruce has chosen not to use this option, and Tony will respect that.

Bruce and Pepper have had some long talks about respect – quite a few of them while Tony's in the room. He's still trying to work out if he should be listening or jealous.

When Bruce lifts the goggles, though, the look in his eyes isn't promising.

"I'm not posing for a calendar, Tony. And if you think the other guy is going to have anything to do with this…"

"I could throw you off a balcony and wait for him to appear."

"You can _try_."

"I could take you. Wait, I think I already have."

It's Bruce's turn to roll his eyes. "The answer is 'no', Tony."

Bruce Banner, mild-mannered scientist by day, immovable object by…well, all the time, really. But there are ways to get around him. Tony just has to determine which method will work best.

"Fine." He passes Bruce on his way out the door and pokes him in the side for old times' sake. The other man jerks away but gives him the almost-smile. "I'll get you later, my pretty – and your big green guy, too."

* * *

Clint comes out to meet the chopper, squinting behind his sunglasses as Maria Hill steps down and strode briskly across the helipad. "You don't look like you're panicking."

"It's all on the inside," he says, deadpan. "Tell me you're here to shut this down."

The wince on her face tells him all he needs to know, even before she says, "Keep hoping."

"Well, Jesus. Doesn't operational security mean anything anymore?"

"It does – for SHIELD agents."

And he and Tasha aren't on the books anymore – becoming very public figures in the wake of the Chitauri invasion has meant a change in status – they're consultants now, not agents. The difference is an extra syllable and the not-always comforting distance of being disavowed from SHIELD. "I guess I asked for that."

Clint holds the door open and waits as Maria initialises her tag with JARVIS. Security in the tower is pretty tight, and doubly so with SHIELD personnel. The AI has a long memory anyway – it's an AI – but it has a _particularly_ long memory when it comes to SHIELD.

Five minutes later, they walk out of the elevator to find Stark standing in a dressing gown, his hands in the pockets, channelling 'eccentric British professor' rather than 'superheroic technocrat', while Cap cooks breakfast in the kitchenette, and the photographer and his assistant discuss lighting possibilities.

Cap's eyes widen hopefully as she walks in, but Clint's shake of the head has him turning back to his frypan.

"Ah, Lieutenant Hill. So nice to see you. Here to give the SHIELD stamp of approval?"

"Here to give the SHIELD stamp of _dis_approval. For whatever that's worth."

"Not much," says Tony to the room in general. Maria ignores it.

"But you're not going to stop this?" Steve's disappointment oozes like the cheese in the omelette he's sliding off the pan onto the plate. Clint's mouth waters – nobody but nobody makes omelettes like the Cap.

Maria's mouth twists faintly. "I'd be lynched in the helicarrier locker rooms if I tried, Captain."

Thinking of someone the women he's worked with in SHIELD, Clint can easily believe that.

* * *

"If this is tasteful, I'm not sure I want to know what taste_less_ is," Steve murmurs, watching Tony fold his hands behind his head and grin at the camera from a sea of red and gold silk sheets.

Maria's mouth quirks at the corner. Steve can just see the edge of it as she turns her head to address him. "There are videos on the internet."

"Videos? Of Tony-? Of course there are." Steve feels his cheeks heat as he answers his own question. He's seen modern pornography – well, by his standards, your average movie-with-sex-scene is pretty much pornography – thanks to Tony and his opinion that Steve needed a 'sex education', as though people seventy years ago didn't have sex. He found it...deeply disturbing.

People back in his day had sex – and not all of it was conventional, either. They just didn't do it for the entire world to see. Well, not in the parts of America Steve saw, they didn't.

Tony, on the other hand, is a product of this modern world – as is Maria.

It doesn't seem like the kind of thing she'd do, but... "You've never-?"

He's not entirely certain if he wants the answer to be 'yes' or 'no'.

The look she gives him is definitely a 'no'.

"Right."

"You know," Tony says as the photographer snaps and adjusts, snaps and adjusts, "this is boring. We should mix it up a little – add a new element. Lieutenant, care to cut the flirting with Steve and join me in here? There's plenty of room." He pats the mattress next to him and grins – the suggestive smirk that means he's yanking people's chains.

Steve knows he's being teased – Tony's still slightly pissed off that he didn't notice Steve's attraction to Maria before he got smacked over the head with it at the fundraiser – but he can't forbear from responding. "Hey—"

Maria interrupts him with a touch, cool fingers sliding across his wrist. Her voice almost lazy as she lifts it over Steve's protest. "Stark, if you're going to proposition me, the least you could do is offer me a threesome with Ms. Potts."

There's a moment of silence as the brains of the men in the room shut down – Steve's included.

"Okay," says Tony, amused and aroused, "I think I'm jealous."

Steve thinks he might be jealous, too.

* * *

In Bruce's mind, there's something disturbing about a man being so comfortable about his nakedness among other men. And yes, he knows about the theories of social homophobia and how this ties in with the careful non-admiration of the male form. He had all these discussions with Betty back in Harvard.

And yes, he swings both ways; that doesn't mean he's an exhibitionist.

It doesn't change the fact that Bruce considers it a little disturbing when a man walks into the room without a scrap of clothing on, stands with his hands on his hips and his balls in full view, and asks how a photoshoot works.

Although, to be quite correct, Thor isn't human, so he's not technically a man.

He's very definitely male, though.

"Jesus Christ," Clint mutters as he walks into the room in frayed jeans and a faded Johnny Cash t-shirt, takes one look at Thor and the photographer, and turns on his heel. "I need a drink."

"Not more than one," Tony warns him. "And don't leave the building! And where do you think you're going?"

"Back to my lab." Maybe if he hides out there long enough, he can avoid this altogether. Okay, so Bruce doesn't like his chances, but he'll take them if they come his way.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Hiding won't save you, you know."

Bruce knows. But hiding gives him time to consider and discard a good dozen plans for getting out of this insanity, including calling up Ben Grimm to go drinking in Harlem, which might possibly even get him kicked out of the country. For good.

Exile or photoshoot? Cake or death? Church of England?

Right now, Church of England is winning, with exile a close second.

* * *

Among the wonders and peculiarities of Midgard, Thor finds this ascription of beauty for the sole purpose of beauty to be somewhat bewildering.

"The body functions," he explains to Jane as they watch Natasha's photoshoot from the bar. "It is made to function, to act, to be - it is beautiful in the fulfilment of these things."

He loves the crease in her brow - the perplexity that covers her face as she considers what he says. It is, undoubtedly, a beautiful face, and yet her beauty is so much more than just the exterior - the woman, the scientist, and the lover who lies in his arms are all part of that beauty. Without those aspects of her, she might be fair, but Thor would not call her beautiful.

"Here, on Earth, it's mostly beauty for beauty's sake," Jane says with a sigh as Natasha obediently rolls over in the bed, tossing her hair out over the white sheets. The assistant flutters approvingly and the photographer coos as he snaps her from this angle and that. "And you can't deny she's lovely."

"Not so lovely as you."

Jane blushes, and he knows she is pleased by the compliment, even as she decries it. "But Natasha—"

"Is a woman and a weapon – she is honed to her purpose, and her body reflects that." It is, he supposes, an attractive body – long and limber, very similar to Sif. And yet, as with Sif, Natasha's truest beauty is in deadly motion, in sharp purpose, in graceful war. All things being equal, Thor prefers Jane's still grace. He brushes his lips behind Jane's ear and down the line of her throat, her waist long and willowy under his hands. "I should rather make love to you, though."

Her laughter ripples out and she half-turns to regard him with a bright gleam in her eyes. "Well, I should hope so!"

* * *

JARVIS informs Natasha that Clint is up on the roof. When she takes the elevator up to the eyrie, she finds Stark already out on the balcony, waving something small and fluffy and _purple_ at the figure sitting hunched up on the ridgepole.

"No." Clint is saying without turning around.

"Come on, Barton!" Stark is calling. "You'll make a great Cu—"

"Stark!" Natasha interrupts. "Go away. Leave this to me."

Stark rolls his eyes but goes inside, muttering something about herding cats. Natasha waits until the door closes, then starts climbing. There aren't too many handholds and the wind is cold, but it's nothing she hasn't done before.

When she gets to the top, she finds Clint playing 'Donkey Kong' on the GameBoy that Stark sneers at every time Clint takes it out. He doesn't look up from the game.

"_E tu, Brutus_?"

"I'm not here to persuade you to do this, Clint."

"But you did it."

She shrugged. "It's not as though I haven't modelled before." And it was easier and safer than many missions she'd undertaken with fewer clothes and considerably less modesty.

He pauses the game and snaps it closed. "With that much of an audience?"

"At least they don't assume that looking is an invitation to touch." Natasha's been in positions where she had to dissuade them from the presumption that to look was to be allowed other liberties. And she's been in positions where she had to let the liberties play out.

She did what she had to do; she's not ashamed of it. But for Natasha, breaking with SHIELD and becoming an Avenger is an assurance that she'll never have to use sex as a weapon again.

Clint is looking at her with the expression that means he wants to say something but doesn't know how to phrase it. She leans her cheek on his shoulder to let him know it's okay, and after a moment he drops his gaze down to the street below.

"Limo arriving. Must be someone important."

Natasha squints. She can see the limo, but not who gets out of it - other than that it's a woman. Long, dark hair, casually dressed, an easy walk - not the usual type of person who gets out of a limo in front of Avengers tower...

Clint sees, but Natasha has the pieces of the puzzle to put this together.

"Looks like Stark's pulled out the big guns," she says as recognition dawns. "That's Betty Ross."

* * *

There's a moment when Jane thinks Steve is going to back out of the room. His cheeks flush as he lifts his chin, straightens his back and probably reminds himself that he's fought Nazis and aliens, and that handling a group of admiring women - almost all of whom he knows and trusts - should be easy in comparison.

"Oh. My. God." Darcy mutters in Jane's ear. "I owe you for, like, a million years."

"You already owe me a million years for saving you from that Senator's aide," Jane reminds her, biting back a smile. "And he's not a chocolate éclair, Darcy."

"I'd lick his cream," Darcy mutters, thankfully not loud enough for anyone else in the crowded room to hear.

She's probably not the only one thinking that, of course. Betty Ross' cheeks are flushed, the photographer's assistant is practically drooling, and Pepper has this little smile on her lips as she glances Steve's way – before Stark bends in and redirects her attention with a heated kiss.

Steve looks to the photographer. "Where do you want me?"

Jane glares at Darcy to keep her from saying '_Anywhere'_. She knows her friend too well.

"We've got you set up for the balcony," the photographer says. "Don't worry about shoes. Oh, and lose the shirt."

Steve clutches at the hem of the shirt, as though it's his anchor to sanity amidst all this madness. Then, resigned, he undresses, padding gracefully out onto the balcony in bare feet and jeans.

A huge American flag has been set up to drape across the street, fluttering out in the light wind, and the photographer and his aide discuss angles and shots.

"Super-soldier project, huh?" Betty grins at Bruce who rolls his eyes.

"Don't say it."

"Well, if she won't, I will," Stark says. "Why _don't_ you look like that, Bruce?"

"Because otherwise Ms Lewis would swallow her tongue whole?"

Everyone looks at Darcy who shrugs. "Hey, America has no shirt; America needs no shirt."

"America does not need a shirt?" Thor asks, frowning, which prompts Darcy to explain.

Meanwhile, Jane watches Steve glance in through the open door of the balcony, to the table where he dumped his shirt – over Lieutenant Hill's paperwork. The Lieutenant is watching from the chair where she was working, brows arched, with only the lazy droop of lashes over her gaze to indicate her amusement and appreciation.

The look Steve gives the Lieutenant holds enough heat in it to make Jane blush.

* * *

Maria swipes the key to her office and lays her palm down on the reader with a sigh of relief. It's been a long week out in China, and she's glad to be back on the helicarrier, even if she's not 'home' yet.

Still, it's good to be back in...familiar...space...

Her brain stutters to a halt.

When she took it over, it was a standard helicarrier office in beige and white – perhaps a little roomier than some, but with the basics – desk, filing cabinet, bookshelf, chair. A screen up in the corner for videoconferences, cables running up through the desk for access to the helicarrier systems.

She personalised it with a photo of her family on the wall, the letter of recommendation that had gotten her into the SHIELD training program, and a selection of scientific periodicals that she always intended to read but somehow never found the time between alien invasions and helicarrier takeovers.

Phil's 'Captain America' cards were a more recent addition - stuck inside a frame, still bloody with whatever Fury had marked them. A reminder and keepsake of the agent who'd been her mentor, and who'd died for a dream he never got to see in truth.

A reminder that even good things could be paid for in blood.

That was the office she left behind - locked and passcoded - when she left for China.

The office she walks into looks less like an office and more like an Avengers-obsessed fanatic's wet dream.

Posters of the Avengers loom over her from the walls and ceiling of the office and the back of her door. Trading cards cover the spaces that aren't postered. There's a HULK!SMASH! jersey hanging on her coat-stand and a toy version of Steve's shield on the bookshelf.

And the Avengers calendar hanging by the door, Steve on the cover, leaning half-naked against a balcony railing while the stars and stripes flutters in the background.

Every space that can fit something has a piece of Avengers-themed merchandise on it.

_It's got to be Stark,_ she thinks as she shoves aside toy figurines so she can put her laptop down on the desk. _No-one else would do this..._

Although he had to have some insider knowledge to get this far – the helicarrier systems are now extremely wary of anything that resembles Stark subroutines. Which probably means this is _also_ revenge by Clint for not stopping the calendar photoshoot. Clint looks at the long view, after all.

Then she spots the scrap of fabric draped over her monitor. _Oh, sweet and holy mother of God!_

She calls Stark's number – the direct line.

"You've reached the Life Model Decoy of Tony Stark."

"I'm going to kill you."

"You can't kill a Life Model Decoy."

Maria picks up one of the figurines – an oddly-elongated Iron Man with a switch on the... _Oh._ "Actually, I can. And then I can kill the next one. And the one after that. I could make a career out of killing you and/or your Life Model Decoys, Stark. And I'd love every moment of it."

"Oh, Lieutenant Hill, you talk so dirty!" Voices murmur in the background and his voice takes on that distance customarily meaning someone's taken the phone mic away from their mouth. "Hey, Rogers, your girlfriend is flirting with me." He puts the phone back up close. "If I offered you that threesome with Pepper, would you relent?"

"No."

"How about you, me, and Rogers? I'd be up for that."

"Stark, you'd be 'up' for anything." Okay, so Maria finds the thought just a little bit hot, but thinking and doing are entirely different things. Besides, she knows perfectly well she's not going to win in a battle of wits against Stark; she'll take what wins she can get. "The closest you're ever going to get to being between my legs is the panties you left draped so helpfully over my monitor."

"What, you wouldn't even use the vib— Hey!"

There's a rustle, and something that isn't quite a scuffle. In her head, Maria can see Steve taking the phone from Tony's hand while the other man tries to slap at him.

"Hey." No name, just the easy greeting that curls around her in a most unprofessional way. "I couldn't stop them."

"Did you try?"

Awkward silence. "I only found out about it afterwards. And Natasha's off in Reykjavik so I couldn't get onto the helicarrier..."

She's in her office with the door closed and no-one watching. She's allowed to grin at Steve's attempts to dig himself out of the hole he's in. Unfortunately, he knows her too well to trust her silence.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Maybe."

His sigh gusts through her earpiece. Then, in a completely different tone of voice, he asks, "Stark left you underwear?"

Maria studies the scrap of fabric she's holding by her fingertips. "Iron Man panties. With Stark's face on the inside."

"On the insi—" She doesn't need visuals to know that Steve's gone scarlet. Or to imagine the look he shoots Tony. "You gave Maria Iron Man _panties_?"

"Of course. She needs something to spice up her underwear drawer."

Maria blinks. On the other end of the phone, the silence is slightly stunned – and perhaps just a little bit dangerous. When Steve speaks again, his voice is just a little bit too low and controlled. "When have you seen her-?"

"Oh, come on. She's a classic little black briefs with matching co-ordinates. Maybe occasionally with lace. Am I right or am I right?"

He's right, damn him. But Maria isn't about to let this conversation go any further in this direction. "Captain Rogers!"

The formality gets Steve's attention; in the background, Stark makes noises about Steve being in trouble now. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I have a mission for the Avengers."

"Cleaning out your office?"

"Very good, Captain."

"So you tell me." There's a pause. "Sorry."

Maria imagines his face, dark gold lashes drooping down over the blue of his eyes, his mouth a twist of ruefulness.

"Just for that, Captain," she tells him, "I'm keeping the panties."

**fin**


End file.
